


i can become any miracle you need

by pipedreqm



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Andrew's perspective, Car Accidents, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Hospital Setting, M/M, Mention of scars, Mostly Canon Compliant, Post-Canon, car accident related injuries, dismissing the claim that andrew and neil never get married, injuries, neil gets hurt but it's all g, references to past abuse, somewhat medically accurate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-03
Updated: 2019-12-03
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:48:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21658531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pipedreqm/pseuds/pipedreqm
Summary: It’s just him, cheek cut like the cosmos from the windshield glass and skin bruised from the seatbelt, and Neil, lying still in the hospital bed. The room is dark but not quiet. There’s a constant whirring and beeping and humming from the machines. It’s disconcerting.*After college, in a mess of pro teams and future lives, Andrew and Neil find time to catch up with their old team. The trip doesn't go according to plan.
Relationships: Allison Reynolds/Renee Walker (All For The Game), Katelyn/Aaron Minyard, Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard
Comments: 33
Kudos: 452





	i can become any miracle you need

**Author's Note:**

> twt @pipedreqm
> 
> thank you to ruby and sar :))

Green light.

The brake lights on the car in front of them fade.

Neil’s foot presses on the accelerator and they glide forward, rolling over a pothole in the road. Andrew, elbow propping his head up against the door, looks across at Neil. They had been driving for almost two hours now, after their flight, and they would be for another two hours until they reached Wymack and Abby’s apartment. They had organised dinner with their old coach; a few of the Foxes – the Foxes who could make it – would also be attending. Dan and Matt were, of course, coming. Dan was assistant coach for the current Foxes and Matt had chosen his pro team for the proximity to Palmetto. Kevin had cleared a few days in his schedule to fly down. It would be the first time Andrew and Neil would be seeing him – and Matt – off the court in a while. Nicky had tried to make it work but, now based in Germany with Erik, it was a feat to accomplish. He had sent several text messages of apologies to everybody a few days ago. Aaron and Katelyn (they were often a package deal nowadays, with the whole ‘being married’ thing) promised to make it but gave a warning that they’d be late due to work. And, Renee and Allison would be flying in together, probably coming from some charity event or fashion show – Andrew couldn’t keep up and he, also, didn’t really care. He wasn’t necessarily excited to see his old team but it was an unspoken thing – he knew how important they were to Neil.

The streets were beginning to look familiar to Andrew. Flashes from Columbia flicker in his mind. Neil is concentrating on the road, one hand on the steering wheel, the other tapping a pattern on his leg. He doesn’t look tired, just worn around the edges.

Past Neil, through the window, a blue car barrels toward them.

Andrew doesn’t have enough time to say anything before it’s crashing into them. Driver side first.

_Neil._

It happens fast.

Metal crunching.

Andrew is snapped forward, then sideways.

Windshield cracking, then shattering under the force.

He slams his head.

Airbags deploy.

Snap-fast.

Spinning.

Silence.

His breathing is loud. He coughs. Splutters. Gasoline. Andrew doesn’t know he closed his eyes until he opens them. Smoke rising from the dashboard. His vision is blurry. Head pounding. There’s no fire, he thinks. No fire, he thinks again but stronger. Don’t panic just yet. Just smoke, grey.

 _Neil_.

Unconscious.

Andrew wills himself to reach across to him but his limbs are so heavy. He inhales, exhales. Angry at himself. _Move_. Neil is unconscious but he’s still breathing – Andrew can see his chest rising and falling slowly. Auburn hair and blood. It runs down the side of his face. He can briefly remember hearing a crack against the steering wheel. It’s so quiet now.

He hates this helplessness.

Andrew feels wetness in his right ear. _Move_. Unattached, his hand reaches up slowly to touch his ear and comes away bloody. His breathing is loud. _Move_. He reaches down this time and it takes strength to unclick his seatbelt. His wrist protests. Good, he thinks. He can feel it.

Blue and red lights fall across the airbags. The smoke is blue and red. Inhale, exhale. It had only been a few seconds since the crash had happened, Andrew thinks. Only a few seconds. His head pounds, right at the base of his neck. 

“Neil.” He tries. His own voice sounds far away.

His door is pulled open and suddenly there are hands on Andrew, on his shoulder, on his arm, on his waist, and he reacts the only way he knows how – violently. His fist connects with something and he kicks out once, twice, lashing. Someone is shouting. The hands retreat.

Motion sends a wave of nausea through him and for a moment, he feels like he is sitting at the top of a rollercoaster staring down at the never-ending tracks, and his stomach rolls. He doesn’t even notice being pulled from the vehicle until he’s sitting on the asphalt road, braced against the blackness, one wrist held to his chest.

_Crush injury._

They’re not talking about him.

Red fire-truck.

Neil, Neil, Neil.

A paramedic is crouching beside him, gloves on, moving to touch his cheek. Andrew flinches away. Desperately, he grasps the open door of the rental car and hauls himself up. He does it slowly but, when he steps forward, he stumbles and catches himself on the bonnet. _Move._ One step in front of the other, making his way around the car. A firefighter, worn coat, warns him not to get too close. The warning itself sounds far away. Andrew watches, leaning on the car, as the firefighters wrench the driver side door off and wedge their machinery under the crumpled dashboard.

Neil.

Another wave of dizziness hits him when he sees Neil. He holds himself up against the bonnet, both hands placed, not caring about the bolt of pain it sends up his arm. Neil is still unconscious. Someone placed him in a neck brace. Blood and auburn hair.

 _Crush injury_.

Something stirs in the pit of his stomach, dark and ugly and ferocious. It would be an understatement to call him angry. Andrew was fucking livid.

Fury cuts through the haze.

It only takes a moment to tear his gaze away from Neil and find the other driver, the man who had been seated in the blue car when he ran the red light. Only 10 feet away. Two ambulances were parked near the wreckage, back doors wide open. The other driver sat in one of them already, talking to a pig.

Andrew doesn’t even realise that he’s started walking but the other driver sees him over the pig’s shoulder and pushes himself off the back of the ambulance, feet touching the ground, beginning with something like _‘I’m so sorry’_ but Andrew can only hear the blood rushing in his ears.

It feels good to punch him.

The man goes down with a crunch that cracks through Andrew’s skull and then the pig steps between them, warding Andrew off with shouts. _Calm down_ , he yells. Andrew shakes his hand out and stares him down.

Then, through the shouts and the clamour, through the blue and red lights flashing (blue, red, blue, red, blue, red) across the officer’s face, through the dull throbbing pain, Andrew hears this: a rattling of wheels across the road. Where the crash happened quickly, he turns slowly. The fight drains from him. He knows he is standing – his feet are connected to the road beneath him – but he feels like he is falling. It feels like he is sitting at the top of that rollercoaster but instead of riding it down the tracks, he’s jumped out of the cart and into oblivion below. Falling. He watches as the paramedics, one on each side, carefully wheel the stretcher that carries Neil around the pothole the rental car had rolled over, and sweep past him. Neil is still unconscious.

The paramedics guide the stretcher toward the ambulance and load Neil into the back, securing him. Andrew feels a rattle in his lungs when he breathes in and speaks, “I’m riding with him.” Although he isn’t sure if he is heard, his tone offers no room for arguments. The paramedic in the back of the ambulance stretches out a hand to help him up but Andrew ignores it, instead swinging himself into the back with a hidden grimace. He sits at the foot of Neil’s stretcher and, even though he can’t bare to look at the sight of Neil like this, he trains his gaze on him.

In his peripheral, the pig approaches the back of the ambulance and exchanges a few words with the paramedic – _watch him_ – before closing the doors and sending them off. The engine starts and throttles him to the bone but he doesn’t let himself close his eyes to dull the pain. He watches Neil carefully. His fingers twitch when the paramedic works on him. Every fibre of his being screams when Neil is touched by those plastic-gloved hands but Andrew keeps still and contained. He can feel the paramedic’s awareness of him.

When they arrive at the hospital, the paramedic says something to him and he follows their instructions, sliding out of the back of the ambulance and waiting, straining, as they unload Neil. There are emergency doctors expecting them. They swarm Neil like bees and speak in tongues he doesn’t understand.

_Male, early 20’s, possible crush injury. Severe concussion._

_GCS2._

_BP? 90 over 50._

_Tachy 140_

_Send a rainbow of tubes and a type and cross._

_Multiple abrasions._

_On my count._

_1._

_2._

_3._

Andrew is dizzy, leaning against the door to the emergency bay, as he watches the doctors shift Neil onto the hospital bed. Still unconscious.

“Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to step out of the room.”

At Andrew’s silence, the nurse continues, “Let’s give the doctors room to work, okay?”

“Sir.” More insistent.

And, it takes all of his conviction to lift his feet from the ground and take a step backward and then another. The nurse slips past him and slides the glass door closed before retreating to the nurse’s station behind him. Andrew can still see Neil and his swarm of doctors but the physical barrier now between them seems to place them worlds away from each other. _Neil_. Although muffled, Andrew can hear the clamour of voices. _Neil._

It feels like hours but, in reality, it is only a few seconds until the same nurse appears before him with a clipboard in her arms and uncaps a pen. “Doctor Beckham is working very hard to stabilise your friend.”

Andrew doesn’t correct her. He just stares past her, into the room, catching the occasional glimpse of Neil’s pale face.

“I’m just going to ask a few questions. Is that okay?” The nurse pauses but is met by silence. She continues, “Name of the victim?”

 _Victim_. The word is enough to make him feel dizzy again, but it’s also enough to snap him back to reality. Andrew’s gaze shifts to her face and he focuses, tone flat. “Neil Josten.”

_(You are still Neil Josten and I am the man who said he would keep you alive.)_

“And, how old is Neil?”

“Current address?”

“Insurance?”

“Any allergies to medications?”

“Do you know if he is currently on any medication?”

“Does Neil have any family in the area we should know about?”

Andrew would have laughed at that a long time ago. Now, he simply says, “No.”

“And, are you family to Neil?”

“Yes.” He answers without considering. Inhale, exhale. The nurse scribbles something down. His eyebrows furrow. _Yes_.

“Your name?”

“Andrew Minyard.” He considers saying _Andrew Josten_ , to convince the nurse.

The nurse looks up from her clipboard and waits, pen poised. “What is your specific family relation to Neil?”

“I’m…” Andrew, one of the few times in his life, fumbles. “I’m his…” The feeling in his stomach is sickening. “We’re family.” He says finally.

The nurse notes a short phrase and Andrew watches as she draws a clean line through something else. “Alright, Mr. Minyard, please make your way to the waiting room. We’ll be right with you. Thank you for your patience.”

Dismissal.

The nurse looks down at her papers, turning away from him already, signing off on something at the bottom of the clipboard.

“I need to see him.” Andrew says shortly and he hates the desperation in his voice.

The nurse looks over her shoulder, apologetic. “I’m sorry, sir. It’s against our policy to let visitors who are not family into hospital rooms.”

The feeling of panic returns; it clenches his insides and lies heavy in his stomach, his chest, his throat. But Andrew doesn’t know how to panic. He isn’t one to be rattled or unnerved.

He knows how to be angry.

“I need to see him.” He snarls. The nurse regards him coolly, her voice measured when she refuses again, but Andrew doesn’t hear her.

He steps forward, threatening. Despite his small stature, the nurse is sensible enough to take a step back. He sends her a stone-faced glare and crosses the hallway, fingers curling around the cool metal of the door, and slides it open.

And then, her delicate hand is on his arm and he snaps, lashes out, elbow cutting upwards and connecting. There’s shouting, shouting, shouting, and there are hands on him, shoving him out of the room, away from the nurse, stumbling into the hallway. He throws a fist out, holds his ground, anger bubbling. His head spins. Blood rushing. Something clenches in his chest; he’s furious. Shouting, shouting, shouting. One of the doctors is wearing his face, shielding the nurse. She holds her nose. Blood drips onto the cool linoleum floor, red against white.

Andrew’s breathing is ragged, “Aaron.”

His twin’s face stares back at him, pale, matching his white doctor’s coat. “I heard what happened.”

_Incoming car accident. Two young males. Crush injury. Concussion. Aaron paused for a fleeting, split second moment when he saw Neil Josten, unconscious and bloodied on a stretcher, and Andrew Minyard keeping pace with the urgent paramedics._

“Aaron.” The back of his head pounds. He is so tired. “They’re not letting me see him.”

The doctors and nurses dissipate. Andrew hadn’t noticed that a security guard was there, in black, guiding the injured nurse away. Aaron sighs, “We’re doing our jobs.”

Andrew is silent, seething.

“Andrew.” Aaron tries.

Pause. Painfully, “Fuck you.”

It takes everything to tear his gaze away from Neil in the emergency room and let Aaron guide him to the doctor’s break room, listless. He sits – no, he collapses – into the chair beside the door, letting his head fall back, watching as Aaron busies himself. He pulls a small first aid kit down from above the lockers and, unprompted, tells Andrew that the doctors let him have a locker, even though he’s only in medical school. He thinks it’s some form of persuasion aimed to keep him at the hospital for his residency years.

Andrew remains still and silent as Aaron cleans his face up. He hadn’t realised he had glass stuck in his cheek, scattered like shrapnel. The windshield had shattered into his skin.

“I need to call Wymack.” Andrew says, finally, hands folded in his lap. His shoulders are heavy. “My phone’s in the car.”

Aaron sets the first aid kit on the bench opposite him and moves to key a pin into his locker, rummaging for a moment, before pulling his phone and handing it to Andrew in one smooth moment. He accepts it. Unlocks it with Face ID. Finds the contact number for Wymack. Stares at it.

What does he say?

Andrew dials anyway. Puts the phone to his ear.

Wymack answers, “Aaron?”

“No. Andrew.”

“What happened?” Wymack is instantly alert.

“Neil and I were in a car accident. We’re at the hospital now. Neil is unconscious.”

Wymack swore something colourful and Andrew hung up.

He holds the phone out to Aaron at the same time that Aaron holds his hand out for it. He calls Wymack back and turns away from Andrew, wandering past the lockers, voice hushed. Andrew sits back in the chair and looks at the stained ceiling.

_Side-on crash, worried about Neil – crush injury, sprains, concussion…Andrew’s in shock. Whiplash. Both cut up pretty bad, yeah…Yeah, same one. Two hours? Andrew will be in the waiting room. Okay. We will. Bye._

Aaron hangs up and puts his phone away.

The room is quiet. Aaron leans against his locker, head tilted. Waiting.

Andrew doesn’t take long to talk. When he does, it’s accusatory.

“You only allow family to visit.”

“Yes.” Aaron pauses. “It’s State law. Policy limits visitors to ‘family’ or ‘immediate family’, and we need I.D to prove relation. In any case,” He continues. “Staff don’t know who has the permission of the patient to be in the room so, with the patient unable to state a preference, only their family have automatic permission.”

Andrew debates the irony of the statement and then drops his gaze from the ceiling to meet Aaron’s eyes. “We’ve never talked about marriage.”

This takes Aaron by total surprise. It’s something that he never would have expected his twin brother to say, or any sentiment of the kind. Perhaps, Andrew was still in shock. “Well,” Aaron begins, struggling, “It’s not something that…”

“Not something that we would ever do?” Andrew raises an eyebrow and then concedes. “You’re right. I’ve never wanted to get married. There’s no point.” He trails off, gaze hard. “We never talked about marriage because we both just knew.”

Aaron regards him. He wants to prompt him – _knew what?_

Knew that marriage indicates permanency. However, that wasn’t what was stopping them. It was the fact that they _already_ had permanency. Knew that, in their eyes, marriage was just another label for their unspoken relationship.

Andrew drags a hand down his face and Aaron has never seen him look so haunted.

* * *

In the hour after, Aaron cleans the rest of Andrew’s face carefully, skulls a coffee and calls the team because he knows Andrew won’t.

Andrew, himself, steps outside while Aaron makes the calls, and takes out his cigarette packet, still nestled in the pocket of his jeans. Lights it, takes a drag. Exhales. Then he just holds it and watches the smoke rise into the dusk. It was something Neil did, he thinks, and is so annoyed by the thought that he flicks the cigarette away and walks back inside.

In the next four hours, the Foxes trail in. Andrew is sitting with his back to the wall in the corner of the waiting room, diagonally across from the sliding doors. He watches as Matt and Dan walk in first, breezing in from the night and gripping hands tightly. Dan has that awful orange windbreaker over her shoulders – Andrew would have curled his lip at that, any other time. Matt would be spending his offseason with Dan, who would be cleaning up from her last season and preparing for the current Foxes’ next season. They nervously talk to the receptionist and don’t seem satisfied with what she tells them, but they step away, heads ducked between them. Andrew is tempted to let them walk by and he almost does but Dan looks up at that moment. She catches Andrew’s eye and nudges Matt silently. He doesn’t move to invite them over either but Dan and Matt quicken their pace and make their way over to him.

Conversation is attempted but Andrew doesn’t know what to say.

Instead of speaking, he remembers.

Remembers the promise he made to Neil, a promise he had long ago rescinded but still felt obligated to uphold; remembers kisses that felt like fights with their lives on the line, like his world stopped and started with Neil’s mouth; remembers Neil looking at him like he was his answer; the percentages and the ferocity and the dreams.

Remembers, remembers, remembers.

Neil, Neil, Neil.

Wymack, Abby and Kevin arrive next. The first thing Andrew notices is that Wymack looks older, in that moment, walking into the emergency waiting room. As they approach, Abby looks steady but her voice holds a certain waver in it as she greets everyone. He notes that Kevin must have made it to Wymack’s house before them – he mentions something about an earlier flight. In the waiting room, Kevin Day is quiet and he can’t stop finding knots in his hair to detangle, the same way his fingers would untangle and retie his racquet.

Aaron, with Katelyn this time, is able to duck into the waiting room for a moment. Andrew sits back as Katelyn and Dan embrace tightly. Aaron delivers the news to the group but looks to Andrew when he speaks, “Neil has stabilised. He’s alive. And, he should wake in the night.”

The group clamours with relief, voices talking heatedly with exclamations of joy, but Andrew doesn’t really hear them. Neil is alive, yes. But both Andrew and Neil have their own testimonies written in blood that death is not the worst thing that can happen to you.

“I need to see him.” Andrew says. He doesn’t know how loud he says it, but Aaron hears him.

“I know.” Aaron hesitates, then sighs. “Look, I’ll see what I can do.”

Andrew doesn’t say anything more.

Renee and Allison arrive, hand-in-hand, beanies and coats, sweeping in from the night. They bring coffee and take-out meals. Andrew takes a coffee silently. He doesn’t care what he’s drinking, as long as it keeps him awake. Renee stops beside him and tilts her head in silent question and, still, after the years, they understand each other. Andrew nods. Renee places her hand on his shoulder, his hunched shoulder, and says with conviction, “It’s going to be okay, Andrew.”

He would believe her, if Neil wasn’t lying in a hospital bed.

Allison and Renee hug Dan and Matt fiercely, worry coursing underneath their laughs and stories. Andrew watches as Allison nudges Kevin with her foot and asks if he’s okay. Kevin shrugs. Allison sits beside him and gives him one of the take-out meals. Wymack and Abby nestle in their waiting room chairs, bump hands and share a significant look as their team reunites, and Andrew watches as they settle comfortably.

It’s only half an hour later when Aaron appears in the waiting room and gestures for Andrew. He rises from his chair. Kevin sends him a nod. Renee is a warm smile, head resting against Allison’s shoulder. The team isn’t waiting on him to say anything, just simply and silently sending him off. Something stirs in his stomach. He doesn’t want to name it but he acknowledges the feeling. He looks at the Foxes for a fleeting moment and then turns toward the emergency doors.

Aaron leads him wordlessly to Neil’s room, quick-paced. It’s mostly quiet in the emergency department. All the lights are dimmed. Only the nurse’s stations are illuminated. Aaron stops in front of Neil’s room and turns to Andrew.

“We were extremely worried about the possibility of a crush injury when you first came in. The dashboard had crumpled on the driver’s side and trapped Neil’s legs. Serious crush injuries can be extremely painful and disabling, with long-term complications. It may have led to an amputation.” Aaron delivers the blow clinically, removed.

Andrew had never truly cared for Exy but this echoes through his mind: _he wouldn’t be able to play._

“However, in my professional medical opinion,” Aaron continues dryly, “Neil is what I would call one lucky bastard. His right knee was dislocated upon impact with the steering wheel and his ankle is sprained. He does have a serious concussion which may affect his memory in the short-term but, beside the severe bruising and concussion, Neil is a miracle.”

“Neil is a dead man.” Andrew replies but almost doesn’t hear himself because the blood in his ears is rushing. _He’s okay._

“Recovery time will be around 6 weeks. Don’t let him on court for the next two months, alright?” Aaron glances into Neil’s room and then back at Andrew, sliding the door open and stepping aside. “Draw the curtains when you’re inside. If anything happens, it’s on me.”

“That’s selfless of you.” Andrew says and then slips into the room. When he draws the curtains, Aaron is already gone. A breath catches in his throat and becomes stuck but he forces himself to exhale, inhale. He’s still facing the curtains, a hand tangled into the fabric, tight, because – he finally lets it hit him. Finally faces the fact that Neil and himself were just involved in a car accident. The fact that Neil could have lost his leg today. It takes a few more deep breaths to reign himself in.

He turns and views Neil coolly, hand untangling and dropping to his side. He doesn’t know who he’s kidding. It’s just him, cheek cut like the cosmos from windshield glass and skin bruised from the seatbelt, and Neil, lying still in the hospital bed. The room is dark but not quiet. There’s a constant whirring and beeping and humming from the machines. It’s disconcerting.

Andrew pulls the chair sitting in the corner of the room to the space beside Neil’s bed, angling the chair so he can face him. The space under the hospital bed is just enough for Andrew to slide his legs under, and then he is able to lean forward, cross his arms and lean against the side railing of the bed, head tilted toward him.

Neil, auburn hair curling, looks so achingly vulnerable. Usually, Andrew is the last to fall asleep between them but Neil sleeps with his back towards him, so this sight is rare. Eyes closed, still, lashes dusting scarred cheeks. There’s a cut, butterfly-stitched, slicing from his temple to his eyebrow. Purple bruising along his jaw, shadowed in the darkness. Andrew isn’t sure Neil has enough skin left for any more cuts and bruises. His gaze drops from Neil’s face to his chest, a light blanket over him – deep, soothing breaths. Inhale, exhale. Alive, he thinks. _Alive_. Inhale, exhale. Without thinking, Andrew raises his head, uncrosses his arms and curls his hand into the blanket, pulling it up further and tucking it around Neil’s shoulders. His fingers linger for a moment longer. The action is so simple but so unprompted that Andrew reconsiders his entire being and sits back in his chair, pulling his knees to his chest; his throat catches and he buries his head into his arms.

He wasn’t allowed in the room when he should have been there for Neil. Just because they weren’t contractually recognised by the law. Tired anger simmers. Immediate family, his ass.

* * *

Andrew is a light sleeper but waking with his neck cricked sideways, collapsed in the hospital chair, grainy darkness illuminated by machinery, forces him to fight through a wave of grogginess. He curls a thumb into the corner of his eye and wipes sleep away, shifting in the chair. His gaze falls on Neil in the hospital bed. Something woke Andrew.

He watches Neil for a long moment, like a hawk – sharp-eyed. Neil stirs (for the second time, Andrew realises – the first time had woken him) in the smallest miniscule movement of turning his head to the side and, at his side, he flexes his hands. Andrew wakes properly.

“Neil?” Annoyed with the croakiness of his voice, Andrew tries again, insistent. “Neil?”

Insistent because he recognises the panic painting Neil’s consciousness as soon he stirs, instinctual reaction to waking up in an unfamiliar place. Neil had woken but kept his eyes closed, testing restraints on his body by moving his hands. Andrew prepares himself for explosive violence, tensing his arms.

The room remains still.

Neil opens his eyes, head turned toward Andrew, and he’s able to sit back in his chair, exhaling steadily. “Drew,” He says, and Andrew doesn’t think to correct him. He just watches as Neil wakes, blinking in the grainy darkness, and lifts his hand to touch the bruising along his jaw. His voice is rough when he asks, “What happened?”

Worry tugs at him – Aaron mentioned amnesia somewhere in his explanations – and Andrew answers. “Car accident. Some fucker was on his phone and ran a red.”

“Oh.” Neil’s hand drops from his bruising and he looks down at his body, recalling slowly, weighing the pain. The machinery decorating the walls hums. He’s not looking at Andrew when he asks, “Will I be able to play again?”

“Neil.”

Neil drags his eyes to Andrew, eyebrows furrowing, and Andrew hates how he notices that the movement causes him to wince quietly. Andrew looks at him and replies evenly (even though there is anger coursing through his blood at Neil’s question), “Yes. In two months.”

Neil’s mouth twitches at this but he keeps quiet.

Andrew wants to slap him upside the back of the head for being so stupid, for being so hooked on Exy that one of the first things he does when he wakes is ask about his sporting form. He calls him junkie and means it. Because, God, he didn’t want to admit it – he never would – but he was sick with worry and then light with relief because _Neil was alive._ That was all that mattered to Andrew. _Neil is alive._

“How do you feel?” He asks smoothly.

“Fine.”

“Liar,” Andrew says and stretches out, like a cat waking from his nap. “You look like shit.”

“Thanks.” Neil’s tone is dry. He sits back against the stacked pillows and breathes slowly. Andrew watches him looking vacantly at the ceiling, watches him quietly process facing two months off the court. They had just finished their first year playing together on their pro team (Andrew’s second year on the team), coached under a Raven graduate, and pitted against the fiercest in the nation. Recognition of their combination earned a contract renewal for both of them, guaranteeing another year together. It had nearly been ripped away from them. _Together_ had nearly been ripped away from them.

“Wymack.” Neil says suddenly, remembering.

Andrew waves him off, “Aaron called him. He’s in the waiting room.”

Neil processes and hums, “Aaron’s here?”

“Completing his last year at medical school. Doctor experience.”

“Right.” Neil says and tilts his head. “What are the odds of ending up at the same hospital?”

“The _odds_ are stacked against us if we’re at the same hospital as Aaron.” Andrew watches the humour spark in Neil’s gaze and continues. “I don’t know if the others are still there but you had a fan club for a moment. Everyone who was supposed to be at Wymack’s tonight came here instead.” He gives Neil the run-down, who still ends up looking disconcerted with the idea of concerned friends after all this time. Andrew pauses. “They wouldn’t let me see you.”

Neil looks at him, puzzled. “What do you mean?”

“Hospital policy.” Andrew almost spits the words. “They only let immediate family see the patient.”

“That’s a bit difficult in my situation.” Neil says.

Andrew stares at him. Maybe, any other time, he would have let a small smile grace his lips at Neil’s flat humour. Any other time wouldn’t include Neil lying in a hospital bed, the possibility of amputation unknown to him, incessant beeping and humming filling Andrew’s head.

“Neil.” He makes a ragged noise, almost wounded when he tries to speak, and Neil sits up. Then, Andrew is back, his tone hard and firm. “They wouldn’t let me see you. We aren’t legally family.”

Neil regards him for a long time and Andrew is almost tempted to leave the room to get some air when Neil simply says, “We could always get married.”

The words hang in the air, almost tangible.

Andrew doesn’t say anything, just looks at Neil. He _looks_ at Neil. Considers the frame of his face in the grainy darkness, the curl of his hair, the bruising along his jaw. Neil is blank-faced, quiet, waiting. He isn’t expectant of an answer. He’s just waiting, patiently, for Andrew.

And Andrew knows, in that moment, “Yes or no?”

“Yes.”

**Author's Note:**

> i just vibe checked the extra content 
> 
> thanks for reading !!!!! 
> 
> twt @pipedreqm


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